My Grandmothers

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My Grandmothers

They left shtetl and city,
crossed an ocean,
one as a child, one as a teen,
I know them only from stories—
she witnessed a pogrom,
she later eloped. The bed her spiteful mother-in-law
gave her and my grandfather gave way
on their wedding night. From their passion,
I like to think.
She taught my mother how to cook
“American food.”
She died from a then inoperable brain tumor.

She had five sisters, like Tevye’s daughters,
without the matchmaker. Or cow. They all sewed,
a skill not passed along to my mother or me.
She had a beautiful voice,
and more than one miscarriage.
She died in car crash. Seatbelts her legacy.

I carry these tidbits
like notes scrawled on scraps of paper,
tucked into a pocket and found later
when looking for something else.

But I have only one memory,
one short clip played on a loop,
generations of curly-haired women, my baby sister
and me–
a bathroom mirror in a Philadelphia apartment
reflecting their—our—images.
Me taking it in. This is what we do—talk, laugh, love.
I remember.

This is for Sarah’s dVerse prompt on grandmothers. The prompt got me thinking–a first draft.

62 thoughts on “My Grandmothers”

  4. “This is what we do. Talk, laugh, love. I remember.” Perfect! I remember too – the memories more vivid than much more recent ones, the older I get.

  8. I love this, Merril! Two for the price of one! I smiled at the bed giving way on your grandparents’ wedding night and the reference to Fiddler on the Roof – the Matchmaker Song is one I remember my mother singing. I especially identified with these lines:
    ‘I carry these tidbits
    like notes scrawled on scraps of paper,
    tucked into a pocket and found later
    when looking for something else’.

  9. Merril, this is poignant and so well constructed i.e. the way you have written it perfectly reflects the scraps these generations left, the stand out memories – and also the shadows of the the history that would have occurred if they had not taken that boat. I am sure you will write more…

    “I carry these tidbits
    like notes scrawled on scraps of paper,
    tucked into a pocket and found later
    when looking for something else.”

  12. I love this, Merril! Your poetic verses told a wonderful story of something all of us have – heritage. “I only know them from their stories” tells the special connection that you feel. To me, this is also a tribute to your mother. Thanks for sharing this wonderful connection.

  15. The sense of history, your history because theirs, comes through each line, a heritage of love, laughter, courage and life. Love the metaphor of tidbits in a pocket, collected to pull out and remember. Beautifully written, Merril.

  21. Fine, Merrill, weren’t grandmothers wonderful. I identify with “do—talk, laugh, love. I remember.” That is the essence of our memories, the best!!
    ..

  24. Definitely a prompt to make one think.
    You always have rich thoughts on the topic of daughters, mothers, grandmothers.
    I’m thinking about my grandmothers, now.
    One came over as a boat child around 1908.
    The other raised 5 sons on her own, when her husband was lost at war. (really odd story here)
    Thank you!

  25. This is absolutely wonderful, Merril. You’ve got me thinking of my grand and great-grandmothers, now…
    Glad I am taking this procrastination from shovelling to catch up on missed posts 😉

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